“Kendall, I’m sorry.”
“What?” I shut off the water and use the dish towel as a buffer, wiping my palms then my knuckles to avoid looking at her.
“I didn’t mean to tell you like this,” she continues. “We were going to wait a little until?—”
“Syl,” I interrupt. “Don’t be sorry.”
“I knew you were going to say that,” she says just as her voice grows shaky and her eyes grow glassy.
I step closer, gripping her shoulders. I feel like it’s the first time I’ve looked her in the eyes since she announced her news. “Because there’s nothing to be sorry for.”
“I mean, I’m sorry that this happened,” she continues, tears now falling down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry for what happenedto you, and everything you went through—” A soft sob cuts her words, and I pull her into my arms.
“You are such an amazing friend,” I tell her as she blubbers into my shoulder. “And when you get over these hormones that are making you have crazy thoughts like I’d actually be upset you’re pregnant, I am going to take you out for your first post-baby drink. In the meantime, I’m to throw you the cutest baby shower and shop for teeny-tiny little baby clothes. And I’m going to help you decorate that cute little nursery in your spare bedroom.”
“These hormones really are stupid.” She laughs a watery, self-deprecating laugh and wipes her eyes. “And it’s going to happen for you.”
“I know,” I assure her. “When it’s my time.”
She nods, and we hug again, this time with the pink elephant joining our embrace. Just as we separate, the boys return.
“You ready to go?” Tommy asks Sylvia.
She steps into her sweater Tommy’s holding open for her with her purse gripped in one hand. James and I say our goodbyes at the door, and when we see them disappear into the stairwell, James closes the door. We’re left in the quiet of our apartment. The refrigerator hums in the background, and the dishwasher sloshes as it shifts between cycles. We stay there, and I wonder if he’s waiting for me to make the first move. Like announce I’m going to hop in the shower before bed or ask him if he wants a bowl of ice cream before we turn in for the night. James doesn’t say anything when I look at him with a strained smile, my vision turning blurry as he watches me try to keep my composure, even though it’s just me and him now. He still doesn’t say anything when he pulls me into his arms, our bodies still behind the closed door. And I sob into his chest. I cry and cry until I soak his shirt. And he lets me until he carries me into our room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
James
NOW
It’s beentwo weeks since our argument that didn’t even feel like an argument. It hit the cusp of one but never tipped over the edge. And I don’t even know if that’s a good thing. We didn’t even hash out the details that led to our fight. I didn’t get a chance to tell Kendall how sorry I was that I couldn’t just keep my mouth shut. I didn’t get to explain to her I only talked to my sister because I didn’t know how to just sit with the fact that my marriage was falling apart and I just wanted to be there for my wife. How it’s been falling apart, piece by piece, for the past few years. I didn’t get to ask her how we got here, unable to talk without our entire lives catching up to us.
I’ve been going in and out of the house as if I’m a guest in my own home. Slipping away whenever I have the chance, finding excuses to be at my parents’ house or at one of my brothers’. Anything to be less present around Kendall where I feel like…a burden.
“James.” I look up from my monitor, my office a near ghost town with the exception of myself and Diane in my doorway.
“Hey, Diane,” I answer. I get a quick glimpse of the time and see it’s after eight. Far beyond my regular work hours. “I didn’t know you were still here.”
“I didn’t know you were still here either,” she counters.
“I, uh, I’m leaving in a minute.”
The sun isn’t fully set outside, but it’s inching toward dusk. I’ve been looking for things to fill my time, and after creating two new irrelevant folders in my inbox and separating my paperclips by size, I realize I’m stalling.
“I’ll see you Monday.”
“See you Monday,” I call back.
I watch Diane walk away with her bag hooked over her shoulder, and her presence is replaced by the evening cleaning crew. They trudge in with their rolling cart and vacuum cleaner, a little taken aback there’s still someone still at their desk as darkness takes over outside, and I know it’s time for me to go home.
I check my phone for what feels like the hundredth time. I don’t know if I expect Kendall to ask me when I’m coming home or wonder why I’m working so late, but neither inquiry comes. It’s like we live separate lives. She doesn’t wonder what I’m up to or who I’m with, if I’m really working, and I’ve lost the right to ask her those same questions.
By the time I pull into my driveway, I’ve checked my phone another twenty times. Getting into my car, in between stops at a red light, walking through the front door. And nothing. Complete radio silence.
It’s dark inside. The only lights on are upstairs and a few in the kitchen. The ones we keep on, day and night. I don’t bother stopping by the kitchen. I head straight upstairs. I don’t know what I expect to see when I walk into our bedroom. Maybe Kendall is going about her nighttime routine, getting ready for bed with Sophia sound asleep in her room. The last thing I expect to see is a suitcase splayed open at the foot of our bed.
“Kendall?”
